






:^- :f 



^M^r 



>•■- 



.^' 






V 



%. 







'by 
j.°^*. 




,0 '^• 











Songs of Montana 

And Other Verse 

FREDERICK R. WOOLLEY 



The lonely sunsets flame and die; 

The giant valleys gulp the nlgbt; 
The monster mountains scrape the sky, 

Where eager stars are diamond-bright. 

—Robert W. Service, 



1919 



Songs o f Montana 

And Other Verse 

-By- 
FREDERICK R. WOOLLEY 



The lonely sunsets flame and die; 

The giant valleys gulp the night; 
The monster mountains scrape the sky, 

Where eager stars are diamond-bright. 

— Robert W. Service. 



1919 



SONGS OF MONTANA 



^,..^*>.. 



To 

The Memory of 

ANDREW J. STAPLES 

Died at 

Vimy Ridge 

1914 



NOV Id i^tii 

Copyrighted, 1919 

©C1A557264 



PREFACE 

In these lines, my rough-made rhymes, 

I have sought to do my best — 
Yet, as you know well, at times 

Man will falter in his quest; 
Therefore, treat me as a friend 

When you read this book of mine; 
Read it to the bitter end — 

Oh, take kindly to my rhyme ! 
For I've spent with good intent 

Midnight oil and vigils lone, 
And my friends their caution lent, 

Cruel as death, as cold as stone. 
Yet I've scorned their verdict cold. 

Wrote on furiously and fast; 
Cursed them and the tales they told — 

Yea, defied them to the last! 
Now, my reader — friend or foe — 
Gaze upon the afterglow; 

Read them. Critic — read them. Sage ; 

Lo! My verses — turn the page! 

THE AUTHOR. 

Great Falls, 
June 6, 1919. 



SONGS OF MONTANA 



THE PINES OF MONTANA 



Since the sad-noted, primitive ages 

When Nature was known at her best, 
Like the undaunted knights and the sages. 

We've withstood the crush of the test. 
We've guarded the land that was scowling, 

W've swayed to the blizzards of God ; 
Stood i^ute where the wild beast was howl- 
ing, 

By trails that discoverers trod. 

On the mountains, the weird, lofty spaces, 

Where the primitive porcupine frowned, 
We've guarded the great, sacred places — 

The land of the Past we have crowned. 
Since ages unravished and luring 

Steel-braced in our kirgdom we stand; 
Invincible, banished, enduring — 

Montana's last wards of the land. 

We are kin to the rivers enchanted. 

The wildness, that revels in s^orn ; 
The solitudes, silent and haunted, 

The migjity land, sacred, unborn. 
As exiles of old we are banished. 

Lone sentinels, lurid and bold ; 
Ye-^ ever the ages have vanished. 

And shadows of pines you behold ! 



AND OTHER VERSE 



THE TOILER 



From the crimson dawn till the setting sun 
I must struggle on till my toil is done, 
O'er the snow and ice on my weary feet 
Till I earn the price that will let me eat. 

On, and ever on, I must pull and strain, 
And my soul is gone and I moan in pain; 
Yet I toil and toil with the one safe bet 
That ril earn the spoil of my body's sweat. 

When night is nigh and the day is past 
I stop and sigh, and I rest at last; 
Then morning comes and I moan in pain — 
The sweat-mill hums and I toil again. 

Ever on and on — to the sweating mill, 
Till my soul is gone and I linger still ; 
Till my heart is cold and I seek to spoil, 
For my life is sold — to toil, to toil ! 



SONGS OF MONTANA 



THE NORTHERN LIGHTS 



When the day is over and toil is done 

And the sky is a milky gray, 
And far and near, like a clouded sphere, 

It hides the light of day — 
I ponder there in the dimming light 

And stare with dreaming eyes 
At the wondrous sights of the Northern 
Lights 

In the mystic Northern skies. 

The colors gleam like a golden stream, 

Triumphantly and bright; 
Pennants of gold, like a tide upshoaled, 

With blood-red, throbbing light. 
Wondrously bright, it cleft the night 

And I, with starir.g eyes, 
Could see them gleam and curl and stream 

In the battle of the skies. 

Oh, the mystic blaze that seemed to daze. 

The pennants spread afar ; 
The gold-lined waves of golden light 

That hid each dimming star! 
I rub my eyes in a vast surprise 

At the splendor of the sights ; 
Then darkness hides the mystic scene, 

The dance of the Northern Lights ! 



AND OTHER VERSE 

THE BIG STACK 



The '-big stack'^ is the giant chimney 
situated at the B. & M. smelter, Great 
Falls. It is 506 feet in height, and is sit- 
uated north of the city, on Smelter hill. 
It presents an imposing sight from the 
country about, and can be seen for miles. 

Stalwart and proud, it towers high 

Upon the hill, above the dam, 
A monster shaft raised to the sky 

To praise the work of planning Man ; 
To show the effort he commands. 

The things he visioned in his quest — 
And there, on Smelter hill, it stands, 

A monument unto the West! 

There, as a monarch grim and true, 

We see aloft its mighty walls 
Rise to the heavens sombre blue, 

High, high above Black Eagle falls. 
Stately and stalwart, grim and lone. 

It towers high above the dam; 
The thing the brain could not atone— 

Behold the mighty work of Man ! 



SONGS OF MONTANA 



MONTANA 

There where the mountains tower grim 
and stalwart to the skies, 
There where the lone trails wind from 
out the Past; 
There where the silence makes you sad, 
there where the hush defies. 
We've gazed upon the things of Nature 
vast. 
For there we've seen the aftermath of ages 
that are dead — 
The mighty tombs that Glacier Age has 
gored ; 
And there we've seen the primitive, where 
ancient pathways led 
Across the land the modern age has 
scored. 
We've sought the hush and loneliness, the 
places God commands — 
Beyond the ridge, the pines so ghostly 
clad ; 
We've sought the gelid vastitndes, where 
many a monarch stands. 
The beauty, yet the spell that makes men 
sad. 
We praised your age-gored solitudes, your 
silent legions massed, 
We've crossed your plains, we've scaled 
your lofty walls, 
And in our song we want to praise Mon- 
tana, proud and vast — 
The wondrous land that ever calls and 
calls. 



AND OTHER VERSE 

land of shining sapphire ! land of glit- 
tering gold ! 
We bow to you as redmen of the past ; 
As beings of the primitive with wondrous 
tales untold, 
We bow to you, the land of Nature vast! 
We've camped within your empire, we've 
sweated on your trails, 
We've traveled to your peaks that pierce 
the sky; 
We've v/adered to your rivers, to the sil- 
ence of your vales — 
Now in your pillared halls we want to 
die! 

SOME DAY 



Some day the flowers will be gone, 

Their scent will fade away. 
And memories tha^ lingered on 

Will ne'er again hold sway. 
Som-G cay we'll bid a sad goodbye 

To this oM world of woe, 
And with us all our hopes will die, 

The hopes we treasured so. 

Some day the weird unknown will call 

To you and I, my friend — 
Then we must vanquish life and all 

To serve that utter end. 
Some day within a graveyard lane 

There'll be a coM, gray stone, 
And on the stone a chiseled name — 

And, lo ! 'twill be my own ! 



SONGS OF MONTANA 



AFTER THE WAR 



Oh, say, when the war will be over 

And the roaring of cannon has ceased, 
And the springtime is happy with clover 

And the Cause of the Nations appeased, 
We'll go where the sad wind is sighing 

And there for the heroes we'll weep — 
The ones who have struggled, defying. 

Who sleep in their last lonely sleep. 

Alas, when the battle is over 

And the flowers of springtime have 
come. 
Oh, the maiden will look for her lover, 

And the mother will look for her son ; 
Ah, many a heart will be crying, 

And many an orphan will weep — 
And ever the wind will be sighing, 

''They sleep in their last lonely sleep/' 



AND OTHER VERSE 



THE NEIHART HILLS 



When the shades of night are falling 

And the daily toil is done, 
When the silent land is calling 

And the creeping shadows come — 
Then I linger there and ponder 

While all Nature is at rest, 
And I gaze in dreamy wonder 

On the scene that is the best. 

When the f'^osty water glistens 

Though the weird and ghostly pall, 
And the toiler stops and listens 

To the distant mountain's call; 
When the frozen sky is scowling 

Amd the pines are draped in snow. 
And a free-born beast is howling. 

How it calls for me to go ! 

By that God-like mountain yonder. 

Where was never tundra vast, 
I have gazed in ^aked wonder 

On the ages that are past. 
I have sat by camp-fire burning. 

Mused long hours 'neath the pines. 
Filled with mighty pangs of yearning 

As I scribbled down my rhymes. 



SONGS OF MONTANA 



THE MOUNTAINS 



We are sentinels of the stillness, 

As ancient kings we rise- 
Wards to the winds that murmur 

Their anthem to the skies; 

Wards to the sombre vastitudes, 

Wards to the bird that flies. 

Wards to the clear-blue heavens, 
Kings of the land below ; 

Kings of the lonely places 
That never Man shall know; 

Throwing our monster shadows 
Wherever sun shall go. 

Sentinels of the vastness, 
Kingdoms at our command, 

Stars of the skies our candles, 
Mighty and proud we stand; 

Answer, ye of the lone trails ! 

Have we not ruled the land? 

Monarch, Mont. 
August, 1, 1918. 



AND OTHER VERSE 



THE SUBMARINE 



Oh, I am the Thing — the Undersea King — 

I was born of a nation to kill ; 
My bow is all red with the blood of the 
dead, 

For I smother the living at will. 
Yes, I am the Host — the Undersea Ghost — 

I was made by a people to sail. 
And often at night, when a ship comes in 

I keep like a hound on her trail ! 

Oh, often at night when the moon shows a 
light 

I rise on my errand of death, 
I follow the trail in the face of the gale, 

And soon do I smother all breath. 
By man I was made to murder and raid, 

I lurk near the great ocean's Janes; 
To the surface I rise and kill 'neath the 
skjes. 

And the billows will cover the stains ! 

I, the grim submarine, am a demon unseen, 

And I come at the sight of a bait ; 
I rise from the deep and kill in their sleep 

The ones that my commanders hate ! 
Oh, I am grim Death — the Undersea Death 

I murder by night and by morn, 
I was born of man's brain to slaughter and 
main; 

God ! The deeds they have made me per- 
form! 



SONGS OF MONTANA 



THE VETERANS 



We have rambled forth to the farthest 
North 
Where the hidden treasures are ; 
Where the husky whines by the lonely 
pines, 
Or calls to a distant star. 
We have told our woes to the outcast 
snows, 
We've groped in the grimy sand; 
We have sought to toil for the golden spoil, 
And you bet that we know the land. 

In the frosty air we have sought the lair 

Of the viking lives unsung; 
When the nights were long we had sung a 
song 

That was old when the world was young. 
And we knew full \yq\\, Mke a friend of hell. 

That our tale was yet untold ; 
We must seek the grime that we might 
some time 

Return with a pouch of goM. 

And then we'll tell of that lurid spell 

That calls to the strong and weak ; 
Oh, wise are we in things earth-free. 

And we know w^hereof we speak. 
We have struggled forth to the lurid North, 

Where even a man is free ; 
Our toil is done in the Midnight Sun — 

We've sinned, and have paid the fee. 



AND OTHER VERSE 

L'ENVOI 

Up where the shadows are falling, 

There where the hungry beasts pine, 
Sad-noted voices are calling, 

Down through the mandates of Time. 
Calling from silence and farness, 

From vastness and primitive lair. 
And I, like the husky in harness, 

Am dreaming a dream that is fair. 

For I dream of the stillness and wonder, 

The solitudes, silent and vast, 
The arch-lure that bids me to ponder 

And go with the breed of the Past ; 
To gaze at the mighty peaks gleaming, 

To wander by weird, haunted streams; 
To follow the bid of my dreaming — 

For that is the stuff of my dreams. 



SONGS OF MONTANA 



THE WANDERLUST 



When o'er the world I wandered forth, 

Unknowing of the Great, 
I heard the stories of the North 

And of the Hunters' fate. 
I longed to do as they had done 

When I was but a child, 
To win and fight for what I won, 

To grapple with the Wild. 

I reasoned all by tales untold, 

That urged and called to me. 
And dreamed about the long-sought gold 

That men would never see. 
And when the myseries of all 

Came to me in my sleep. 
It seemed I heard the vastness call 

From out the forest deep. 

Oh, now along a hundred trails 

Of urging memory 
I hear the Northern Blizzard's wails 

In death-like mockery. 
I know the toil that's never done 

Through ages that are dust — 
The visions of the Wandering One 

Lured by the Wanderlust. 



■■'■^•*:v,.v ""■ 



^.-t-rf' 



aV- 



*^ 



\% 




